I’ve got this head on my shoulders,
I’ve got this heart in my chest.
The latter has long stopped beating,
The former is mad at best.
I guess you could say I’m crazy,
Guess you could tell me to run.
But I am so sick of running,
And it just ruins the fun.
I like to see when they’re angry,
I like to see when they lose.
I’m not some substance, my darling;
I’m not something you can use.
Heart tells me that I still love you,
Head says that you’re just a fool.
But then at the end of the day,
Both can agree you’re a tool.
Maybe you’ll lay off the insults;
Maybe you’ll tell me I’m sweet.
Maybe my pleading will change you;
Finally admit defeat.
It wouldn’t kill you to call me,
Or recall why we first fell.
But if you don’t get the message,
Babe, you can go right to hell.